


The Creature

by Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction



Series: The Monster Series Collection [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, F/M, Happy Ending, This is fanfiction, because what's the point otherwise, body modification (bucky's a patchwork mess), but still hot, frankenstein's monster!bucky, no one good dies, technically zola's monster!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction/pseuds/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction
Summary: Doctor Zola wants to take over the world with his patchwork monster, but the creature escapes. He doesn’t want to hurt people, but that doesn’t stop the townspeople from being afraid of his metal arm and scarred body. He’s broken and scared and has nowhere to go… until he stumbles upon a cottage in the woods and the beautiful woman that lives there.





	The Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Blood, Body Modification, Death  
> A/N: This is the tenth Monster!Character one shot for this Spooktober season!  
> If you want to request another Monster!Character, you can drop a comment on any of the fics in the Monster!Series Collection, giving me a prompt and/or telling me what Monster!Character you want to see! Please don't request Monster!Character I've already done (for example, demon!bucky or vampire!steve). You can request any character from the following universes: MCU, Mass Effect, X-Men, Harry Potter, Supernatural, and Dragon Age. Requesting something doesn't mean I'll choose it, but it doesn't hurt to ask!

[Originally posted by dinsintegration](https://tmblr.co/ZytEWm2JdIWiK)

**The Creature’s POV**

The townspeople shriek when they see him. They bring out their torches and swords and pitch forks and chase him away from their towns.

He could hurt them. He could simply break their necks before they could lift a finger. He’s done it before. It made the Doctor happy, when he did this. 

He doesn’t like hurting the people, so once he’s been discovered he runs instead of fights. All he wants is to live away from the Doctor, but he’s monstrous. He knows that. 

The people from this town bring out their dogs to track him and chase him through the woods on horseback, but he’s had time, now, to learn to maneuver through the trees and in the underbrush. He goes where the horses cannot. They give up as the sun begins to crest the horizon and he watches them from his spot on the cliff, eyes trained on the torches as they flicker in and out of view beneath the canopy of trees. When he can no longer see them he slowly climbs down from his spot in the tree, ears perked for the bay of hounds. 

He begins walking away from where he knows the town is; now that they’ve seen him they’ll be on alert. He can’t go back there. 

Maybe he’ll have better luck at the next one.

* * *

He walks. He knows, distantly, that his body needs food and water. It’s been days since he ate and an entire day since he found a stream and drank from that. 

When the smell of food hits his nose he follows it without thinking about it. After a few minutes he can see a trail of smoke above the treeline and a few minutes after _that_ the trees clear enough that he can spot a cabin. 

He stays in the shadows of the boughs of the trees, looking for any signs of danger. 

Movement in the window catches his attention and his cold steel blue eyes lock onto the source: a woman with her nose stuck in a book, floating around the kitchen. The sound of her quiet humming seeps through the open window and his lips make a sort of aborted motion that he can’t begin to fathom.

She turns around and lowers the book to stir the pot on the stove top and his breath catches in his throat. She’s beautiful. He walks towards the house, caution thrown to the wind. 

* * *

**Your POV**

You’re so lost in your book that you don’t realize you have an audience until he’s already at your window.

A squeak of surprise tinged with fear leaves your lips as you sight the tall, imposing, and raggedly-dressed man looming just outside your kitchen window, looking lost and more than a little confused. From the nearly feral way he’s looking around you half expect him to climb through the window and attack you, but he stays almost eerily still and watches you, his bright blue eyes a wild contrast to his dirty face. 

“H-hello,” you say faintly, heart thudding almost deafeningly loud in your ears. 

His eyes widen in surprise and he takes a half step backwards, looking to be torn between running and staying put. You dare not provoke him so you wait, letting him make the first move. After a short eternity, he swallows thickly and rasps out a “Hello,” in a deep, obviously disused voice.

Your lips twitch upwards in a tentative smile. “It’s a very nice day out, isn’t it?” you venture, hoping that weather was a safe enough topic for a clearly scared, unstable man. 

He looks around, as if noticing he’s outside for the first time, brow furrowed in an almost endearing way beneath his mop of dark brown hair. “No,” he says decisively, giving the cloudy sky one last frown before he looks back at you, gaze softening. 

You can’t help but laugh at that, genuine smile lighting up your face. “Yes, I suppose you’re right about that. I was just thankful it’s not raining again.” He stares at you like you’ve just turned water into wine and your smile becomes a little more strained. “Are you lost?” Instead of any helpful answer, he shrugs a single shoulder. The glint of light off metal catches your eye and you suck in a breath, shocked.

Through the holes of his shirt (of which there are many) you can see his left arm… which entirely shiny, silver metal. 

His eyes widen in fear as he follows your line of sight and he angles his body so his left arm is hidden behind him, but it’s clear from the look in his eyes that he knows the damage has been done. He’s already practically folding in on himself, legs trembling so subtly that you almost can’t see it, so fixated on his face as you are. 

“Does it hurt?” you breathe, leaning over the railing to try and get a closer look. 

That shocks him into looking at you, shoulders sagging as his blue eyes flick to you, surprise plain as day on his face.

His mouth opens and closes a few times, obviously at a loss for words. At once, you find yourself angry. Who would let a man with an injury like his walk around the forest all alone? He’d obviously been out there for weeks if the state of him was anything to go by. 

He was saved from having to answer, though, when his stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl that you swore shook the windows in their frames. He looked away nervously only to glance back up again, obviously worried. 

You only smiled at him, a bit charmed. “Would you like some food?” 

He looked conflicted, but apparently his bodily needs won out over whatever else he was fighting against internally. “Yes, please.” 

* * *

“What do I call you?” you ask while the two of you eat the soup you’d been preparing.

“I don’t have a name,” he says, not looking at you as he slowly but steadily decimates the large bowl of soup in front of him. 

You smile at him. “Everyone has a name.”

“I don’t.”

You tilt your head to the side, considering. “How about… Bucky?” 

He doesn’t look up at you, but there’s a tiny, pleased smile curling the corner of his lips as he sips at the soup on his spoon. 

You beam at him. “Bucky it is, then.” He nods once and you take that as a confirmation that you’d made a good choice. “Bucky?” 

He looks up at you, matted hair half-hiding his face. 

“My name is (Y/N), Bucky. How would you like to wash up after you’re done with that soup? I’ll get some hot water and soap ready for you.” 

* * *

“A little higher please, Bucky!” you say to him.

He hoists you a higher, one hand under your butt and the other holding your hand, keeping you steady as you reach for one of the highest apples on the tree. It’s the end of the season and you know if you leave them on the tree any longer they’ll only fall to the ground and rot. 

With a victorious “Aha!” you pluck the ripe apple from the tree and look down at Bucky, pleased as Punch. He’s smiling up at you and his long hair- cleaned and combed- is held back with a tie, letting you see every inch of his lovely face. 

You smile at him and squeeze his hand. He lowers you carefully to the ground and you place the last apple in the basket and go to pick it up, but Bucky beats you to it. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say, genuinely thankful for his help. The basket it a third of your height and easily as wide. It would have taken you an half hour to drag it back to your house, despite how close it is. 

Just like you knew they would, his cheeks turn pink and he nods. He immediately takes off in the direction of the house, making it look like toting that giant basket around is easy, even when you know most grown men would struggle with it. 

You follow after him with a dopey smile on your face. 

* * *

You’re reading on the couch in the living room and Bucky is sitting in front of you, watching the world through the window as you run your fingers through his hair. 

He goes tense and you look up from your book, concerned. 

You’d been expecting something series so when you see him staring at a deer outside with such intensity you can’t help but smile. When he gets up, catlike and absolutely silent, you don’t move to stop him, but put your bookmark in to keep your place and follow him quietly. 

He stalks to the door and opens it and you wonder, briefly, how he managed to open it without it squeaking like a dying pig. You wait by the door and watch.

He gets within ten feet of the deer before it sees him. They both freeze, neither one moving. One of Bucky’s feet is off the ground, but he’s as still as a statue.

Then, he throws his hands in the air and screams like a howler monkey and the deer scrambles away into the forest, kicking up dirt and dead leaves as it goes. He turns back and seems surprised to find you standing there, but walks back with a smile on his face. 

“Protect?” he asks when he stops in front of you, tentative and hopeful. 

You smile at him and tuck some loose strands of hair back behind his ear, fingertips lingering on his stubbled cheek. “Thank you. I don’t think we need to worry about deer, though,” you say, smile softening when he leans into your touch. His blue eyes cloud with confusion, but you take his left hand in your free one and tug him gently back into the warmth of the house. “C’mon, big guy. You’re letting all the heat out.” 

“I did something wrong?” he asks as you close the door, lock it, and lead him back into the living room. 

You sit back down on the couch and hold your arms out. Immediately he’s next to you, head resting against your shoulder and single knee laying on top of your thighs. “No, Bucky. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

* * *

It’s his first time off of your property since the two of you met and he’s tense and jumpy, but you needed some things for the coming winter. That meant going into town, and he nearly had a conniption when you tried to explain that you needed to leave. 

So he came with you. 

“Hello, Steve!” you call as you enter the small bakery. The scent of delicious freshly baked goods and confections makes your mouth water. 

There’s a loud noise of flesh hitting metal followed by a muffled curse. “Is that you, (Y/N)?” Steve appears in the doorway a moment later, hair askew with flour on one of his cheeks. When he sees you he smiles, but it slips off his face when he sees your rather large, imposing shadow. 

The heavy cloak that had served to hide Bucky’s arm and scars now make him that much more conspicuous as he glares at Steve from under the hood. 

“Who’s your friend?” Steve asks, wiping the worst of the mess on his hands onto his apron.

You smile and take Bucky’s hand in yours and give it a reassuring squeeze. He finally tears his gaze off Steve to look at you, but he’s still coiled as tightly as a spring. “This is Bucky,” you tell Steve with a genuine smile. 

Steve’s face is carefully impassive as he looks between you and Bucky, but you can tell from the way that he’s not smiling that he’s confused and concerned. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve says before the pause can get too awkward. 

Bucky glances at you for confirmation and you nod encouragingly. His gaze slides back to Steve and he gives him a quick nod. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbles. 

Steve looks at you for a moment and apparently decides to take your lead on this because he smiles a moment later. “What can I get you today?” he asks, gesturing grandly to the tiny shop. 

You squeeze Bucky’s hand to get his attention. “Pick something out, just like we talked about, alright?” you ask him. 

He looks dubious but nods and walks around the small shop, occasionally stopping to stare at a confection or two. 

You leave him to it and heft the large picnic basket up onto the counter. “Here are the apples from the harvest. They’re the best of the crop,” you tell Steve with a smile. 

However, Steve’s gaze is trained on Bucky. “You know who that is, don’t you?”

You frown, but don’t turn around to look at Bucky. “I have my suspicions.”

Steve finally looks at you. “He’s been missing for years. There have been unsettling rumors…” 

You shrug and push the basket a little farther over the counter towards Steve. He takes the hint and removes it from the table, though he doesn’t move away from the counter, and sets it by his feet gently. “I thought he was dead…”

You finally look over your shoulder at Bucky, who’s sniffing warily at a bagel. “Me too,” you admit as you turn back to Steve.

He stares at Bucky for a long moment before his gaze flicks to you. “Should I alert the men?” he asks, businesslike. 

Steve didn’t get this strong from lifting bags of flour around all day.

You give him a melancholy smile. “I think that would be best. There’s more information in the basket.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, but straightens up a bit and smiles at someone over your shoulder. “Hello, did you find something you liked?” 

You turn to look at Bucky, who looks from you to Steve, then slowly slides a half eaten bagel and two others of the same type onto the counter. “These,” he rasps.

Steve smiles at him. “I had a feeling you’d like those. I’ll get them wrapped up for you, then grab (Y/N)’s order,” Steve said smoothly. He grabs the basket from the ground and goes into the back room, giving you one last meaningful glance before he goes. 

It’s time for answers and justice.

* * *

“He’s in here. He won’t move. Nearly took off Morita’s head when we tried to move him.” 

You follow Steve and Dum Dum through the labyrinthine halls of Castle Zola and, even though you know Steve, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos have cleared it out of Hydra sympathizers, you can’t help but feel uncomfortable. Its grizzly rooms and dour decor set your teeth on edge and you find yourself constantly looking over your shoulder. Each time you find Falsworth and Jones there, stalwart and observant, but you can never relax.

Steve opens the heavy iron-reinforced oak doors but doesn’t go into the room. He doesn’t like the thought of you going in alone, but doesn’t want to risk having to fight Bucky. 

You step into the room- no, a laboratory- and suck in a breath and bite back the bile rising in your throat. It’s a horror show and you don’t stare at any one thing too long, instead focusing on Bucky’s back. 

He’s standing over what’s left of Doctor Zola. His back is to you, but you can see blood slowly dripping from his hands. You don’t know if it’s Bucky’s or Zola’s, but you pray it’s the latter’s. Bucky is so still that it’s impossible to tell if he’s even breathing.

“Bucky?” you ask tentatively as you walk slowly towards him. Your voice is so quiet in the huge, overpoweringly horrific room that you can barely hear yourself. Bucky, however, jolts as though he’d been shocked, but he still doesn’t turn to look at you. You try again, sure to put a little more energy in this time. “It’s me, Bucky. (Y/N).” It’s a risk to reach out and take his hand but you do it anyway; he’d never hurt you 

The moment your fingers lace with he decompresses like a balloon with the air being let out. He turns to look at you, eyes tired and haunted. 

“It’s okay, Buck. You did it. He’s not gonna hurt anyone anymore,” you say softly. He nearly flinches when you slowly bring your hand up and brush some of his hair from his face and your heart breaks just a little more for this beautiful, damaged man. 

“I did something wrong?” he whispers, studying you searchingly. 

You shake your head and cup his face with the hand not holding his. “No, Bucky. The Doctor hurt a lot of people, including you. I know you don’t like hurting people but if you hadn’t shown up my friends would be dead right now.” You pause and give him what you hope is a comforting smile. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Buck. Not you or anyone else.”

“You’re safe?” he rasps, ducking down so that you’re eye level with each other.

You rest your forehead against his and nod your head ever so slightly. “Yeah, Bucky. You made sure I’m safe. Thank you.” 

Bucky shifts anxiously, gaze moving away before snapping back. “I stay? With you?” he asks nervously. 

You trace the fine scars on his cheek and neck. “Yeah, Bucky. As long as you want.” 

“Forever?” he breathes, not daring to hope.

“Forever,” you assure him.


End file.
